---
Jay sat on the edge of the rooftop with his legs hanging off the side, a lukewarm energy drink cradled between his palms. The city below looked calm from this high up—like the chaos couldn't reach him here. Only the flicker of ambulances and the low, persistent hum of helicopters in the distance reminded him that blood had been spilled just hours ago.
The Guardians of the Globe were dead.
He knew it was coming. Had predicted it down to the approximate hour. Still, the moment it hit the news feeds, something inside him hollowed out. Watching it play out on screens rather than from behind a keyboard made it worse. Reality had weight that fiction never could.
Red Rush's crushed bones. War Woman's broken blade. Immortal's decapitated corpse.
All of them, gone.
He tilted his head back and took a long, silent sip of the bitter drink. Not because he needed the caffeine—but because it gave his hands something to do. They wouldn't stop shaking.
He didn't know if it was fear, rage, or guilt.
Probably all three.
The news anchors spoke in tones of national mourning. Flags at half-mast. Candlelight vigils. Tribute videos on every major channel. The world was grieving.
Jay wasn't.
He was planning.
Omni-Man was the killer. Everyone watching the show knew it. But in this world, no one did. The GDA had cleaned the scene before the blood dried. No leaks. No questions. Official story: foreign-enhanced terrorists, coordinated strike. Possible Martian tech involvement.
Bullshit.
Cecil Stedman was buying time. Jay knew that. The man wanted to keep Omni-Man close, controlled, observable. If the world learned the truth too soon, it would panic. Collapse. Maybe even provoke Nolan into accelerating his plans.
Still, Jay couldn't stomach it.
He tossed the empty can over his shoulder and stood. The city lights danced in his eyes like pinpricks of fire.
He had power. He had knowledge. He had a countdown.
And he was done sitting on the sidelines.
---
The first thing he did was upgrade his gear.
Jay couldn't afford a costume—not yet—but he could get durable clothes. He found a military surplus outlet near the docks and paid cash for black combat boots, reinforced gloves, and a lightweight ballistic hoodie with hidden Kevlar lining. Not perfect, but it beat thrift store denim.
Next came his phone. He swapped the burner for a modified smartphone with encrypted apps, offline mapping, and a custom OS he'd cobbled together from Isaac's old files. He even programmed an emergency kill-switch that wiped everything with a gesture.
He wasn't playing hero. Not exactly. He just didn't want to die like a side character.
His powers were improving, slowly. He could now redirect objects the size of tires with moderate strain. He began experimenting with mid-air deflections, ricochets, and parabolic arcs. When he threw a baseball and bent its path into a looping figure eight before catching it again, he nearly cried.
Progress.
Control was key. He couldn't brute force his way through this world. Not yet. But if he could use the right force, in the right direction, at the right time...
He'd be untouchable.
---
He started following the GDA's response teams.
It wasn't hard. They didn't hide well—not from someone with vector awareness. Jay would shadow their trucks from rooftops, log entry and exit times, even tap into their comms when he got close enough. He learned their protocols, their slang, their weaknesses.
He watched as they investigated minor supervillain skirmishes with more paranoia than usual. They were jumpy. On edge.
Nolan Grayson's house had a new unmarked van parked nearby every day. Different plates, but same sensors, same patterns.
They were scared of him.
Rightfully.
But they weren't doing enough.
Jay wanted to scream at them, shake them, make them act. But he didn't.
He had his own plan.
He'd need leverage.
---
The Lizard League made their move in Minnesota—robbing a biotech lab. It was small potatoes, barely made the national news. But Jay tracked it.
Not because he cared about their loot, but because one of the scientists they kidnapped was Dr. Elsie Tran—a name buried in the show's wiki footnotes.
A bio-signal expert. Specialized in waveform disruption tech. Her work would eventually be used by Robot to help perfect his drones.
Jay needed her alive.
So he moved.
He rode a freight train halfway there, then hitched a ride in a delivery truck. No cape. No warning. Just a black hood, black gloves, and a duffel bag full of scavenged gear.
The League's hideout was a converted wastewater facility. He scouted it for three hours, noting patrols, entry points, and blind spots.
Then he hit them fast.
A thrown manhole cover bent into a boomerang, taking down two guards.
A redirected pipe valve ruptured, releasing steam to mask his approach.
He moved like a phantom, striking hard, fast, and quiet. No kills. Just broken bones and shattered pride.
When he found Tran, she was bound to a steel chair, bruised but conscious.
"Who—?" she started.
"I'm no one," Jay said. "But you're going to live. That's what matters."
He got her out. Left the League unconscious and zip-tied for the authorities.
By the time GDA agents arrived, Jay was gone.
But they found a message scrawled in permanent marker on the facility's main generator.
"DO BETTER."
---
The media dubbed him "The Drift."
Unverified sources claimed it was because of how his attacks bent reality. One GDA agent speculated he used anti-gravity. Another called it "tactical telekinesis."
Jay rolled his eyes when he read the headlines.
But he didn't correct them.
A name was armor. A mask. A tool.
He let it spread.
And with it came interest.
---
Robot contacted him first.
Not directly, of course. Jay found a tiny drone trailing him one night. He didn't destroy it. Just redirected it mid-air into a maintenance shaft and left it there, humming uselessly.
The next day, an encrypted text hit his burner phone.
"You're smarter than they think. Let's talk."
Jay ignored it.
He wasn't ready.
But Robot would try again.
Then came the Whisper—an underground net forum known for cape gossip and unverified leaks. Someone claiming to be GDA-adjacent posted a thread:
"The Drift is an independent variable. High threat potential. Tracking advised."
Jay took that as a compliment.
And a warning.
He had to move faster.
---
He broke into a satellite lab owned by Global Defense Tech. Not for sabotage—but to steal something specific.
A portable waveform analyzer.
It would help him map out the kinetic fingerprint of unique superpowered individuals. He needed it to predict Omni-Man's flight paths, reaction times, and energy bursts.
If he was going to survive the coming war, he had to understand the battlefield. Every variable. Every ripple.
He began training in abandoned warehouses—running simulations against holographic projectors, throwing weighted objects while exhausted, redirecting moving drones at full sprint.
He pushed his limits until he blacked out twice in a week.
But each time he woke up, he smiled.
Because each fall meant he was climbing.
---
And then, one night, he found Damien Darkblood waiting in his safehouse.
The demon detective was exactly as Jay remembered—gravel voice, trench coat, eyes like dying coals.
"You are not who you appear to be," Darkblood said.
Jay froze.
Damien leaned forward, sniffing the air. "Soul wrong. Body borrowed. Mind… foreign."
Jay said nothing.
Damien didn't press. "You seek truth. So do I. But truth has weight. Are you strong enough to carry it?"
Jay met his gaze.
"I have to be."
Damien nodded once. "Then we are allies. For now."
And just like that, he vanished.
Jay let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
He wasn't alone anymore.
And that meant the game had changed.
---
The pawns were moving.
The board was set.
Jay—The Drift—was no longer just a ghost.
He was a player.
And in a world built on lies and power, he intended to become the piece no one could predict.
Not a hero. Not a villain.
Something else.
The vector between.
---
End of Chapter 4